Love So Alike
by Naerys Targaryen
Summary: "When at last I am free, I shall come for you." Those were the last words he said to her, before their world fell down around them. Their countries are at war; their love is forbidden; and everyone around them is seemingly bent on destroying whatever future they may have. In the face of such adversity, how can they change their fate? [AU, IC characters acting OOC]
1. The Child of Summer

**A/N: Hi everyone. First of all, thanks for stopping by and taking an interest in my story. Secondly, there's a few orders of business I'd like to address (sorry this is so long):**

**1.) This is an AU, (like...completely). If that's not your cup of tea, then… I'm sorry?**

**2.) This is not like the Inheritance Cycle whatsoever. I simply took the characters that Christopher Paolini created and put them into a story that was inspired by the film Tristan and Isolde (2006) and the HBO Series Game of Thrones.**

**3.) There are no dragons in this story. Unfortunately, the idea of giant flying lizards did not fit into this story arc, as it is not heavily centered on action. It is a love story above all else. Instead of dragons, our main characters are allied with direwolves, (hence the Game of Thrones inspiration)**

**4.) Murtagh and Eragon are still half-brothers, but they share the same father, Brom, not the same mother. Brom is the king of Alagaesia and Morzan is the king of a country that I created.**

**5.) Galbatorix doesn't exist within this Alternate Universe. Instead, Morzan is the main antagonist.**

**If any of this doesn't sound appealing to you, then I suggest you back out now. If, however, this does sound like something you could be interested in, then thanks for joining me on this journey. I hope you all enjoy it. With all of that being said: let's get started!**

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><p><em>"I wonder by my troth, what thou and I<em>

_Did, till we loved? Were we not wean'd till then?"_

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><p>Murtagh had always been a quiet child. No matter how hard he tried, his father could never get the boy to string more than a few sentences together at a time. He was an avid reader, but the child always seemed to prefer the company of books over that of people. This didn't surprise Brom though; the boy's mother had been the same way. She used to wile away her days in the Surdan sun, nestled under the shade of a broadleaf tree. That was the way he had met her: Emà. The dappled sunlight streaming through the gaps in the leaves had cast little shadows on her lovely face. She had laughed when she'd caught him staring.<p>

_'Are you lost, sir?'_ she had asked, her lilting voice sounding like a song to his ears. Her vibrant grey eyes were alight with vitality and joy.

_'No, I am not,'_ he'd replied, catching her infectious laugh. _'I am simply captivated by your beauty.'_ She had laughed at that too, her full mouth parted and spread wide in a jubilant smile. Dark waves of hair fell softly about her slim shoulders, a braided wreath of wildflowers adorning her hair. And the way that she spoke, as if she found the goodness and the light in all people… How could he not love her? He was going to marry her, after all was said and done. _Until my dying day, I shall always love you…_

"Where is your head this morning, my love?" Selena's voice cut through his reverie, snapping him harshly back to reality. Brom blinked back the wetness that had suddenly come to his eyes and looked up at his wife. "Did you hear anything I just said?"

"In the clouds, apparently," he muttered. "I'm sorry, my dear. It seems my thoughts have run away with me today." She smiled at him across the long table, quickly turning her attention back to the plate of fruit that lay before her.

"Jeod has called a council meeting," she continued, slicing a piece of melon delicately with her knife. "He wants to discuss the recent turnover of men amongst the City Guard. Something about treason… I'm not sure, but it all sounds very droll to me."

"Yes, yes, I'll be there," the king replied absentmindedly. "I know he's been afraid of this for a while. I'll go, if only to assuage his fears."

"Probably for the best." Selena's eyes were downcast, but they were ever watchful, stealing furtive glances at her husband. It hadn't escaped her notice that he'd been increasingly abstracted as of late. Anytime she'd tried to engage him in conversation she'd have to drag him away from his thoughts. But just what exactly those thoughts were, she was never fully certain, though she surely had her ideas…

They continued their breakfast in their parlor, silently focusing on themselves. This was quickly becoming their routine, and Selena was growing tired of it. When she'd been betrothed to the future king of Alagaesia as a young woman-a desperate grab for power by her father-she'd envisioned a life full of splendor and jewels and rich fabrics. And while all of those things had indeed come to pass, there was an emptiness between them. She'd tried to infiltrate that space-that ever-lengthening space-but Brom always drew away from her. It had taken Selena years to understand what was keeping him from opening up to her, but the answer had made itself clear eventually...

A messenger hurried into the room, head bowed and eyes downcast. He stopped for a moment at the edge of the table, trying to catch his labored breathing. "What is it?" the king intoned dryly.

"Your Majesty," the white-haired man wheezed, a hand pressed against his stomach, "it's your son." The queen's piercing blue eyes flashed upwards, though anyone looking from a distance never would have known that she'd suddenly become highly aware of the unassuming old man. Selena stroked the dull edge of her cutting knife with one long finger, watching closely.

"Which one?" she asked innocently, full lips set firmly into her most practiced simper.

The messenger's gaze flicked nervously between the king and queen, his mouth quivering in hesitation. Selena eyed him carefully and waited patiently for the answer she knew was to come. "It's Murtagh, Your Grace," he finally replied with a bow of his head.

Brom suddenly whipped his head up from looking at his plate, his full attention on the messenger now. "What's happened?" he breathed, eyes wide in fearful anticipation.

"He is missing, Your Majesty."

Brom stood quickly, pushing up from the table and causing his chair to topple over onto the floor. "Why am I only now hearing of this?" he boomed, his voice suddenly full of anger. The queen remained sitting there impassively, hawkish eyes ever vigilant.

"We only just learned of it, Your Majesty. The steward was waiting for him to begin his tutoring for the day, and… well, he never showed up." The frightened messenger was now shaking like a leaf from head to toe, no doubt recalling the tales he'd heard of the king's wrath.

"Find Jeod," the king replied, making his way toward the door. "Tell him to send a garrison out to find the boy. I want him brought home, _now!_"

The old man bowed once more, his hands trembling, and retreated out the door from whence he came, scurrying like a frightened mouse. The king's footsteps could be heard echoing against the stone walls of the corridor, sounding like crashes of thunder in his haste. Somewhere, a door slammed heavily on its hinges and the footsteps ceased, swallowed up by the immensity of the castle. All the while, the queen sat at her breakfast table, taking tiny bites of fruit and porridge. The queen reached for her crystal goblet and raised it to her lips, taking a small sip of the watered apple wine and wrapping her hand around the thin stem. She chewed on a strawberry purposefully, staring out the large window that looked out over the city of Illirea. _Yes… the answer had made itself quite clear…_

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><p>A warm breeze was blowing across the open meadow, bending the soft blades of grass to its gentle force. Murtagh pushed a lock of hair out of his eyes and continued studying the page beneath him. It was a history book, of the pacts and alliances between clan chieftains of the Silver Age, and it hadn't been easy sneaking the large tome out of the city under his cloak. He was only a young boy after all, and easily recognizable as the king's bastard at that. The hood of the cloak had served to hide his face from the guards at the city gates, but it had been slow going. The young boy looked up at the walls of the shining city that was his home, though it had never really felt like it. He was treated well, but everyone always looked down on him, and not just because he was a child.<p>

_Bastard…_

That word always hung over his head, like a dark cloud. He hadn't known what it meant for a while, but the steward that was in charge of his education had explained it to him once.

"You are aware that you are a bastard," he had said dryly, flipping through the dusty pages of an ancient book on warfare. "But you do not know what it means."

"No, master," the child replied. "Father says not to listen to those people, but…"

"It is difficult," the steward cut in. "I know how it feels to be looked down upon for what you are, not who you are." The old man looked at him with kind, brown eyes. His white beard reached down to his waist, as fluffy as a white cloud. "As it stands, a bastard is one who is born to a mother and father that are not joined in wedlock. Your father, the king, was betrothed to a woman from Surda, a nobleman's daughter. But you were born before they were married. If they had been joined in wedlock, you might have been made legitimate, but your mother died shortly after you were born. And so, you are a bastard, Murtagh. But do not think that makes you any less of a person than anyone else. Do you understand?"

"Yes, master," Murtagh replied, hanging his head somberly. He'd known that his mother was killed by Orani soldiers, but it still hurt to hear about her, the woman he'd never known. His father had married Selena soon after that, and his brother had been born, the future king of Alagaesia. It was a title he would never know.

He thought of her then, his mother, as he sat in that meadow. He knew she'd loved to read, and he couldn't help but think he'd picked up that particular trait from her. She had been beautiful, which he knew from the small painting he kept tucked in his tunic pocket. It was the only image he had of her, and he guarded it fiercely. His father didn't know he had it, and the queen certainly didn't know either. Murtagh didn't know what the queen would do if she ever found out…

Murtagh looked up at the city again, marveling at the clean, white stones of the walls. Illirea was huge, a thriving metropolis, and it would take the guards hours to find him. He could only hope his father wouldn't figure him out. Even though he knew his father cared about him, he could be overprotective. And living in the same castle as the queen was never easy. He never knew what he did to make the queen despise him, but she glared at him with hateful scorn every time he was in her presence. Those piercing blue eyes of hers, and the cold grey eyes of her direwolf, were always scrutinizing his face, searching for some hidden evil within it. Whatever she was searching for though, she never seemed to find it.

It wouldn't be long now before his father's wolf picked up his scent and they found him. The female direwolf, Athkore, had always been kind to him, and if he was lucky she would keep his location secret from his father for a little while longer. But, as fate would have it, he was not lucky. It seemed he'd been cursed since the day he was born. The huge, cream-colored direwolf appeared on the horizon, flying towards him at an alarming rate. Her white fur shifted in the breeze, and it looked like her skin was rippling, like the surface of a lake after someone threw a rock into it. Athkore came upon him and skidded to a halt, pink tongue hanging out of her mouth as she panted in the heat of the summer day.

_'Little one,'_ she said through their mental contact, her voice deep and rich, _'your father is searching for you. Why have you run?'_

_'I didn't run, Athkore,' _he said, standing up and coming over to the gigantic wolf. He was tall for a boy of ten, but the wolf stood at least two heads taller than him. _'I just needed to get away for a while. The castle is so… stifling sometimes. It's nice to come out here, don't you think?'_

_'Yes, little one, I agree. But next time, let your father know before you run off,'_ she scolded softly. Athkore leaned her head down and licked him with her soft tongue, right on the cheek, and he laughed as he wiped the slobber off of himself, scratching her behind her huge ears. She suddenly perked her head up, staring back in the direction of the city, her nostrils flaring as she picked up a scent on the air. _'He's coming, little one.' _She stared back at him with her soft, brown eyes and gave him another tiny lick on the cheek before taking off towards the city. Murtagh saw then that his father was galloping toward him astride his black charger, pushing the horse to go faster. It wasn't long before the direwolf met him and then turned to run alongside the horse.

Murtagh hung his head in shame upon seeing the look of utter fury upon his father's face. He'd seen his father angry before, but never like this. Flames seemed to be leaping from his eyes and steam coming from his ears. The boy stared up at him innocently, clutching the leather-bound book to his chest tightly. Brom leapt from the horse's back and landed nimbly on the ground.

"Hello, Father," Murtagh said meekly, avoiding eye contact at all costs. The king took long strides toward his son, finally kneeling in front of him and taking the boy by the chin, forcing him to look into his eyes.

"Murtagh," he whispered, the name seeming strained on his lips. The king's striking blue eyes searched his face, aching at how much the child looked like his mother. "What are you doing, boy?"

He looked up at his father then, flinching slightly at his hard stare. "I… I just wanted to come out here to read." Brom let out a short breath of a laugh and hung his head, rubbing his eyes with a rough and calloused hand.

"You wanted to read," he echoed back, shaking his head. But there was a smile playing on his lips, and even the boy could not help but notice this. Athkore sat silently behind the king, watching the scene unfold before her. "Hasn't anyone told you it's dangerous to wander off by yourself?" Brom asked, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder. Murtagh shook his head vehemently, dark hair flopping about wildly. "Mmm, is that so? Well it is dangerous. You must be more careful, Murtagh."

"I'm ten years old, Papa. I'm grown up now," the little boy replied heatedly, a look of fierce determination fixed on his face. The king smirked slightly, holding back the laugh he wished to release.

"Yes, you are nearly a man grown at ten. But even grown men need a little help protecting themselves sometimes," he said, squeezing his son's shoulder. "Why must you come out here by yourself? Why not play with your brother?" They boy's eyes went wide at that, and he shook his head again, harder this time.

"No, Papa. The queen wouldn't like that…" He let the thought trail off, but the king knew; he had known for some time. It took everything within him not to lose his temper again. It would do no good for the boy to see there was tension between his father and his wife.

"You must try, Murtagh. He is your brother; you two are bound by the bonds of brotherhood, and those are not easily broken," the king said, pulling the boy to his chest in a tight hug, book and all. "I wish that the gods had granted me a brother. But alas, they were not so kind. Cherish your brother, Murtagh. You will find that he will be the greatest of your friends. Understand?" Murtagh nodded slightly, not really understanding what his father was saying, but absorbing his words nonetheless. "Now then, we need to get you back to the castle. I have something to give you."

Brom picked up the slight framed boy easily, and placed him on the direwolf's back between her shoulder blades. The king mounted his own horse and pulled on its reins, turning back toward the city. "I have something to give you," he said to his son. "Follow me." The boy gripped the white fur of the wolf beneath him and held on as she took off at a blistering speed. Athkore was just as large as the warhorse his father rode, but her legs were longer and more powerful, her strides twice as long as the stallion's. The boy and the wolf quickly pulled ahead of the king, the looming city growing larger as they drew closer. Murtagh let out a whoop of joy at feeling the wind tearing at his hair and clothes; feeling the wolf's powerful muscles rippling and moving beneath him. It was exhilarating.

The guards posted at the gates stared in slack-jawed wonderment as the huge wolf thundered past them, gigantic paws slapping against the cobbled streets with resounding thwacks! Murtagh gripped her fur tighter as she weaved in and out of carts and passersby, twisting and turning down the side streets of Illirea. The main streets were set into a wheel-and-spoke pattern, but the side streets took a more errant path, seemingly having no rhyme or reason to them. A woman screamed in terror at the sudden sight of a direwolf bearing down upon her, and she quickly jumped out of the way. Athkore vaulted over a cart with a push from her powerful legs and they left the woman behind, staring after them in awe. It was only the nobles that were allowed to enter into a union with a direwolf, so the commonfolk always stopped and stared whenever they were out and about, as they were not accustomed to the sight.

The wolf rounded one last corner and the imposing citadel came into Murtagh's view, looming up over them and blocking out the afternoon sun. Guards walked atop the battlements and surveyed all that went on below. When one of them spotted the white direwolf, they recognized her immediately and heralded the king's return. Shouts could be heard floating over the heavy, warm air, and the bell in the tower rang out above everything else. The king reined in his destrier beside his son, waiting for the horse to regain its breath after their frenzied ride.

_'You should not run like that with the boy upon your back, Athkore,'_ the king said to his wolf. She swung her giant head towards him and squinted her dark brown eyes.

_'I had it under control,'_ she replied pointedly_. 'He would not have fallen on my watch.'_ The king trusted the wolf more than anyone else, but he took especial care with his son. After losing the boy's mother… Well, he wasn't going to be taking anymore unnecessary risks.

They trotted through the gates of the citadel, the stallion's hooves echoing wildly off the smooth stones with a steady _clip-clop-clip-clop._ A stablehand rushed to the king's side and took the reins from him, holding the horse steady as it bucked its head. Brom bounced off of the horse, landing on the hard stone of the courtyard with a thud. He was not an old man, but neither was he as young as he used to be, and the fatigue of waging wars and ruling a kingdom was starting to take its toll on him. He went over to the wolf and lifted Murtagh off of her back, setting him down and ruffling the boy's dark hair a bit.

"Come now," the king said. "I've got something I want to show you." Murtagh followed in frenzied excitement; he could hardly contain himself.

"What is it Papa?" he asked hopefully.

"You will see." The child wasn't too disappointed at this. His father had always delivered before, no matter what. They walked to the edge of the courtyard, past the stone staircase that led to the main doors of the citadel, and around the side towards the tourney field. Murtagh had only seen one tournament, as his father hadn't allowed him to go until the year before. He had thought how marvelous the knights were on their horses and wolves, dueling with each other to win fame and glory. In his dreams, he liked to imagine he was one of those knights, bringing honor to his family. But that was just a dream.

They strode past the tourney field, Athkore following close behind and keeping an eye on things. Past the field was the stables, and it was here that they were headed. Murtagh felt his heartbeat quicken in his chest. Perhaps he'd be getting a horse, like he'd talked about for a few years now. His father had always said that he wasn't big enough for a horse yet, though. Maybe now he was. The king nodded in greeting to the groom that stood by the door to the stable, brushing down a silver mare with a hard-bristled brush. The groom bowed deeply in response, and, once they had passed, went back to his duties. Near the back of the stable, Murtagh saw the stablemaster with a large chestnut stallion, combing out its red-hued mane. The stablemaster was a large, barrel-chested man with arms the size of tree trunks and every last inch of him covered in hair, or so it seemed to Murtagh. He was always lumbering about near the smithy, yelling about this thing or that thing in his booming voice. But now, amidst his environment and the horses he so clearly loved, he seemed as quiet and demure as a church mouse. Murtagh stared up in wonderment at him as the king made his greetings.

"Well met, Dormnad. Have you gotten what I asked?" The stablemaster nodded firmly, his mouth set into a thin line.

"Aye," he replied gruffly, pulling at the waist of his trousers. "The beast is back there." He jerked a thumb towards the very last stall on the right side of the stable. The door to the stall was closed and padlocked, which seemed strange to Murtagh.

'When did they start locking up horses?' he thought to himself, staring with piqued interest at the stall.

'They don't,' Athkore responded quickly, padding quietly past him and settling on her haunches in front of the stall. Brom placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, gently leading him to the padlocked door. The stablemaster went first, producing a bronze key from his leather apron and fitting the key into the lock. It sprang open with a sharp _click!_ and dropped to the floor. The burly man slid the door open on its track and then stepped aside for the king.

"Come on," the king said softly, guiding his son into the hay-filled stall. The boy expected to see a horse there, but what he found took him by surprise even more. There, nestled in the warm hay and sleeping soundly, was a direwolf pup. Its fur was white as snow; perfectly free of blemishes. Its ears twitched restlessly at their arrival, but it took Athkore going over and nibbling on its ear for it to open its eyes. The wolf's eyes were blood red, staring out at Murtagh unblinkingly. He stared back in breathless awe, completely transfixed by the beauty before him. Could this really be for him? Was his father really giving him the great honor of entering a union with a direwolf?

The boy stared up at his father, who only nodded slightly, a small smile playing on his lips. Murtagh could not help the gasp that escaped from his mouth. It was true…

Slowly, he walked toward the direwolf where it still lay on the ground, curled into a ball. It watched him carefully, and he reached out a hand towards it in an offering of peace. The wolf extended its neck to sniff at the boy's fingers, licking them slightly. Murtagh laughed at the way the wolf's tongue tickled his skin and the warm sensation that accompanied it.

_'Hello,'_ he said tentatively, reaching out with his mind to touch the pup's consciousness. He knew that the wolf was still too young to talk with him, but it sent him feelings of happiness and trust, overwhelming him with a sense of joy. This was really happening. His father had given him a direwolf of his very own. Perhaps now, he could begin to feel like he truly belonged.

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><p>High up in her tower, the queen gazed down into the courtyard of the citadel and watched as her husband returned with the boy: Murtagh. It made her seethe to see that boy atop her husband's direwolf, but she knew this would not be the last time she would see him that way.<p>

The queen had argued bitterly with her husband about giving the boy a direwolf pup, but Brom had won out in the end; he always did. If he wanted the boy to have a direwolf, there was not a force in this world that would stop him.

_'Then why not give our son a wolf too,' _she had argued, fists clenched at her sides. _'He is the future king, after all.'_

_'I am well aware that he is the future king. Eragon will get his wolf in time,'_ the king replied calmly. _'He is still just a boy.'_

'Your _son is still just a boy,'_ she shot back. The look the king had given her signified that their conversation was over, and he would say no more about it. She peered out the window as they disappeared from the courtyard, headed towards the stables where she knew the beast awaited that bastard boy. _Yes… everything was becoming quite clear indeed..._

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading everyone! Please review and let me know what you think! P.S. (There are supposed to be obvious parallels and people acting OOC [AU, remember?] so… Don't think that I'm trying to pull the wool over your eyes, haha!)<strong>


	2. The Child of Winter

**A/N: Hello! Thanks for reading Chapter 2 of my very AU fic. I realize that, although I explained some things in the last A/N, there still may be a bit of confusion. So if you guys are confused or have questions, please feel free to say so in a review or PM me. I'm not scary, I promise :) With that being said, let's get to it!**

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><p>Her father was on one of his rampages again. The slightest things set him off these days, and there's nothing she or anyone else could have done to stop him. His rage combined with the effect alcohol had on him only made it that much worse. Raina sat placidly on her bed, the book she'd been perusing lying open and untouched next to her on top of the quilt. She stared blankly at the wall, listening to the sounds of screaming coming from the end of the hall. <em>He was hurting her again...<em>

Many years ago, Morzan had been exiled from Alagaesia as punishment for crimes committed during the clan wars. Each of the eight tribes of Alagaesia had been vying for power, undermining and attacking the other clans. After Brom's father—the leader of the Plains Clan—had died, Brom assumed the command of his father's armies, with Morzan by his side as his second. They were unbeatable, and victory was on the horizon. But things began to change when Emà had come along.

Morzan had always been an unruly child, who'd turned into a hardened man, and he wasn't going to let anything stand in the way of his clan and their journey to victory. He'd suggested that Brom leave the girl behind, but by then it had been too late. She was with child, and Brom had it in his head to marry her. Morzan viewed her death as a blessing to their cause, but his friend had never recovered. Even until this day, Morzan thought the war-battered king of Alagaesia was half-mad with grief over his long lost love.

Towards the end of their campaign, Morzan was growing more adamant about their attacks, insisting that they had to raid the small villages of the other clans to hasten their defeats. But Brom refused, abhorring the idea of slaughtering innocents in the name of unity. Enraged at his friends stupidity, Morzan took a company of soldiers and attacked a small village that was allied with the Mountain Clan. The village was razed to the ground, and no one was spared, not even the children. It had been a bloodbath, but it aided in their defeat of the clan chief. Although they had won that clan's loyalty, Brom could not reconcile with what his friend had done. And so, he sentenced him to exile, on the small island nation of Oran just across the sea to the west. Morzan took his direwolf Emrys, a fearsome, red-coated beast with eyes like emeralds, and sailed across the sea to start a new life in a strange land.

It had been hard for Brom to do it; they had been best friends as boys, after all. But in the end, he hadn't really had a choice. It was either that, or execute him; and that, he could not do. Morzan had accepted his fate outwardly, but within, his heart hardened and turned black as pitch. The betrayal he felt consumed him and ate away at what little soul he had left. In his anger, he mounted a plan to raise a kingdom upon the island of Oran, and build up cities to rival those in Alagaesia. It had taken him ten years, but he'd finally done it. The capital city, Caton, was not as large as Illirea, but over the years it had turned into a bustling port city, thriving off of the fishing trade. Soon, he would have an army to match his city, and then... Well, his plans were still coming together.

But Raina was unaware of any of this. Right now, she was just a scared little girl listening to her father commit atrocities against her mother. Although he'd hit the girl only once before, she was terrified he would come through her bedroom door one day, eyes bloodshot and hazy from the alcohol he consumed day and night. But he never did. It was only by her mother's intervention had he never did it again. She bore the brunt of his abuse, for her daughter's sake.

Finally, the screams died down and her mother fell silent. All was calm in the castle once more. But inside, Raina was screaming out. She wanted nothing more than to escape this place and go somewhere, anywhere else. As long as it was far away, she didn't care. Slowly, the little girl swung her legs over the side of the bed and padded quietly to the window. The cold stone of her bedroom floor sent icy shocks of pain through her bare feet, but she ignored it. Leaning up on her tiptoes, she looked out the window at the grey sky and the grey city and the grey landscape all around her. It certainly was a bleak world to live in, but it was the only one she'd ever known. A black-winged bird soared past her window, and she found herself to be jealous of that bird. What would it be like to simply spread your wings and fly away from all your troubles? Would it make life easier? She had the sneaky suspicion that all of your troubles simply caught up with you in the end.

Suddenly, a terrifyingly loud pounding came from the hallway, the throbbing even and measured. Raina turned and looked over her shoulder at the oaken door. Her hands began to shake where they gripped the windowsill and her tiny knees started knocking together. She knew without a shadow of a doubt what that thumping meant. A scratch came at the door, shaking it in its frame. Something heavy knocked against it, shaking it even more and loosening dust particles all over the floor. Raina whimpered softly and turned away from the window.

_'Open the door, child,'_ a gruff, deep voice spoke in her mind. A tear ran down her cheek, but she remained quiet, staring at the door. She knew that her father's wolf stood on the other side of it_. 'Your father wishes to speak with you.'_

_'I'm not feeling well,'_ she lied, hurrying over to the side of the bed and kneeling down behind its large frame, as if that would protect her.

_'Open the door, now!'_ A ferocious snarl filled the air as he shoved against the door again. She cried out and covered her ears, willing the beast to go away. The direwolf snarled once more and gnashed his teeth, banging on the door again.

Raina knew it would do no good to hide from her father once he'd sent his wolf out after her. With trembling hands, she crossed the large room and took hold of the handle, pulling the door open slowly. The huge direwolf—Emrys, he was called—stood staring at her with his fierce green eyes. Slather dripped from his wickedly sharp fangs and a low growl was coming from deep within his chest. Raina had always feared the creature, and with good cause. He was larger than any of the horses her father owned, and he had a temper. One time, she'd seen him feasting on an entire sow, tearing its innards out and blood dripping from his jaws. That image alone had struck the fear into her heart.

He looked fearsome now, crouched in the hallway just outside her door, his green eyes glinting savagely. _'Come with me,' _he growled, turning slowly in the cramped hall and retreating towards the stairwell, his heavy steps shaking the stones beneath her feet. She ran back to her room and quickly threw a pair of calfskin boots on before sprinting after the wolf. It would not do to keep her father waiting. She didn't know what he was capable of right now.

The stairs wound down to the huge entrance hall of the palace, opening up beneath the main staircase. As the wolf strode across the marble floors of the hall, Raina followed far behind him, terrified he would turn and suddenly snap at her as he was wont to do sometimes. His sharp claws clicked against the smoothly polished floor, and his tail swished back and forth. Raina kept her head down, taking care not to draw any unwanted attention to herself. After living so long under her father's reign of terror, she had learned that it was better to go unnoticed. If you could remain invisible, then you didn't get hit so often.

Emrys took a sharp turn to the left and then disappeared through the huge double doors of the throne room. As the little girl hurried across the empty hall, she hesitated by the open doors, peering cautiously inside to see her father sitting upon his throne with his head resting wearily in his hand. She watched carefully, debating whether to run back to her room or not, but she knew that would only result in pain. After the last time, she never wanted to experience that ever again.

"Raina!" her father suddenly snapped, still staring down at the floor. She jumped in surprise at the sharpness of his voice. "Come in here!" Without any further hesitation, she scurried across the throne room, her boots barely making any noise on the marble floor. Her eyes remained downcast, but she could feel her father's anger seeping through the air. And when she finally reached the base of his throne, she fell to her knees, folding her hands into her lap and bowing her head.

"I'm here, Father," she whispered. Emrys settled on his haunches next to the stone chair, staring at her with cold, hard eyes. The throne was carved in the shape of a wolf, its snarling head rearing up behind the king. Raina had always thought the chair was unsightly, and it only grew uglier every time she looked at it.

"Stop snivelling, child." His voice was as hard as the stone chair he sat upon, and the little girl flinched at the sound of it. "I have something for you. Come here." Raina got to her feet quickly and hurried up the steps of the dais. The king snapped his fingers impatiently and she finally looked up at her father. Morzan had always been a handsome man, but his drink had certainly had an affect on him. His eyes were a flint grey, and his hair was dark, though it was turning gray at his temples. His cheeks were sunken in and dark circles ringed his eyes, as if he hadn't slept in a week. Raina could smell the stink of wine on his breath, and the stench hung about him like a cloud.

"Why do you stare at me, child?" he asked, tilting his head to the side a bit. "Do you fear me?" She remained quiet, but her hands were trembling and tears pricked at her eyes like needles. When she refused to answer, Morzan sighed deeply and then snapped his fingers again. Emrys turned his head to reach behind the ugly throne. She watched with wide eyes as his massive head reappeared, and held gently in his jaws was a squirming pup. It cried and whimpered pitifully as Emrys deposited the pup in the king's lap. The king stroked its flawless, silver fur absently with a rough hand, eyeing his daughter.

Raina's eyes went wide as the pup stared at her with yellow eyes as big as full moons. The pup stilled when their eyes met, tilting its head far to the side as it inspected the small girl. Raina reached out a tentative hand and the pup sniffed it, tickling her skin with its cold, black nose. She let out an involuntarily giggle as the pup began to lick her with its soft, pink tongue. Morzan held out the wolf for her to take, and she scooped it up into her arms, snuggling against the soft fur.

"You are a royal," Morzan said, watching his daughter. "It is only fitting that you have a wolf of your own. Your wolf will become your closest friend, and most trusted advisor. She will protect you from harm, as you will protect her also. It's past time you started lessons with the swordmaster. A child should be well educated in all subjects, even a girl." She stared up at her father in wide-eyed wonder, but found that there were no words in her throat.

All she could manage was a strangled, "Thank you, Father." He waved her away dismissively and she scurried off, clutching the wolf tightly to her chest. As quickly as her feet would carry her, she ran back to the safety of her bedroom and shut the door quickly behind her. Once safely inside her haven, she put the wolf pup down on the floor, letting it sniff around and get acquainted with her new surroundings. Raina watched in breathless fascination as the pup explored, often tripping over her big paws. Then the pup turned back to her, bounding over and yipping softly. Raina giggled when the pup jumped up on her, licking wildly at her face.

"You're so beautiful," she breathed, sitting down on the floor cross-legged and letting the wolf curl up in her lap. Slowly, she stroked the wolf's soft fur as she fell asleep. "I will call you Ùna. Yes, your name shall be Ùna, and you will protect me from my father when you grow big and strong."

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><p>True to his word, the king stood watching in the practice yard as Raina learned to hold a sword properly. He feared the girl would not be coordinated enough to handle the rigors of swordplay, but for now, she was doing a fair job.<p>

"Higher, Princess," the master at arms said, tapping her little arm so she would raise it up. For a child of eight, she was small for her age; more like a girl of five or six.

"It's heavy, Master Reymus," the child complained. Morzan sighed heavily from where he leaned against an empty barrell.

"That's the smallest one we have, Your Highness." The master at arms threw his hands up in exasperation as the girl dropped her sword for what seemed like the hundredth time. The tiny blade fell to the ground with thump, sending the dirt flying up into the air. As a black bird squawked overhead, Raina lifted her eyes to the grey sky, watching its frenzied flight. She followed its course until it disappeared behind the tall stone towers of the castle, but continued to stare up at the sky.

"Raina," Morzan called across the yard. At the sound of his voice, Raina snapped her attention towards him and then quickly bent to pick up her blade. Again, Master Reymus heaved an agitated sigh.

"I fear it is no good, Your Majesty," he said, sheathing his own blade. "The child is too distracted. Perhaps we will fare better tomorrow." The king simply raised two fingers to show that he conceded and the arms master strode purposefully back to his workshop. Raina stared at her father in fear, but the king just turned away and slunk back inside his castle, leaving the child alone. She breathed a sigh of relief once he was gone and hurried back inside, darting through the corridors and up the South Tower where her room was located. And she could hardly contain her excitement as she burst through her door.

It had only been a fortnight since her father had given her the wolf pup, but already she had grown tremendously. The direwolves grew quickly, and Ùna was now the size of a full grown dog, though she was only about two months old. Ùna bounded over to the small girl and jumped up on her chest, toppling her over onto the floor and showering her with wet kisses.

"Ùna! Stop it! Let me up!" the little girl laughed, squealing loudly as the wolf pup yelped with happiness. Raina sat up off the cold, stone floor and rubbed the wolf lovingly behind her ear. She couldn't wait for the day that they would be able to communicate with their minds.

As the two youngsters played on the floor, a soft knock came at the door. Raina gasped as her head snapped around to look, but then she realized it couldn't have been her father; he would have just barged in. Before she could say anything, the door creaked open to reveal her mother.

"Raina?" she called softly. "May I come in?"

"Mama!" The little girl leapt up off the floor and ran to her mother, burying her face in her full skirts and latching onto her legs. Queen Bronwyn patted the child gently on the top of her head and then pulled her away. She picked the small girl up and then placed her on the bed that was far too large for her. Raina stared up at her mother, and couldn't stifle her gasp upon seeing the ugly bruise that marred her beautiful face. It was dark purple and blue, and covered the queen's left cheek. And beneath her high collar, Raina could just see the edges of another bruise peeking over the fabric.

"Do not think about it, child," her mother said softly, sitting beside her daughter on the feather bed. "Your father does not know what he does in his rage. It is the wine that makes him this way. And as long as he's hurting me, he is not hurting you. That's all that matters." She smiled sadly, but there was an immense pain her deep blue eyes. Raina could not help the tears that flowed down her face.

"I cannot stand to hear him hurt you, Mama," she whimpered softly, burying her face against her mother's bosom. The queen stroked her daughter's light hair, and thought that her only regret was bringing such an innocent child into this cruel environment.

"I know, darling… I know," she crooned softly. Then the queen began to hum a song from her childhood, one that her mother had taught her as a young girl. It seemed to soothe Raina, so the queen just continued on, cherishing this small moment she could share with her child. Morzan rarely allowed them any time together, so every moment was treasured.

"Don't leave me, Mama," Raina cried, sniffling as her tears became stronger.

"You know that I must." Bronwyn knew that if she did not obey her husband, he would hurt their child, and that she could not bear. "But I will come back for you, yes? No more tears, Raina. You must remain strong." Her wolf bounded up onto the bed and curled next to the little girl, sharing her warmth and comfort. The queen stroked the wolf's fur and silently thanked the gods for sending a protector; one who would watch over her daughter when she was gone. For she knew that her time was running short.

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><p><strong>Alright, that's all for now. Please leave a review and let me know what you think. Remember: You got questions? Just ask! Thanks for reading!<strong>


	3. Changing Tides

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far. I hope you all are enjoying this fic, and remember: if you have any questions, feel free to PM me. The couple of lines that you're seeing at the start of some chapters are parts of a poem by John Donne called "The Good Morrow", which describes this fic perfectly. All righty, let's get on with it!**

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><p><em>...But sucked on country pleasures, childishly?<em>

_Or snorted we in the Seven Sleepers' den?_

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><p><span><em>Five years later…<em>

Raina sat high upon a white cliff, staring out over the Eastern Sea where she could just glimpse the hazy horizon of a far off land. Her long, corn yellow hair was blowing behind her in a soft breeze. Beside her, Ùna lay in the soft, green grass, her ears perked and swiveling atop her head to listen for anyone approaching. Her silver fur swayed with the breeze, and her bright, yellow eyes scanned the surroundings. Raina's chin rested in her palm, and her eyes were narrowed against the bright sun. It was September now, and the sweltering heat of summer was retreating to be replaced by the crisp chill of autumn. But she didn't mind; autumn was her favorite season. There was something about the dying of the leaves upon the trees that seemed rather hopeful to her. Although they would die, new life would come with the spring. It seemed to her that it was somewhat of a necessity for death to make way for life.

_Why are you so melancholy today, Princess? _Ùna asked, raising her head to sniff an unfamiliar scent that came with the wind. When she was satisfied it was nothing threatening, she looked back to the young woman and leaned over to lick her elbow. She turned and smiled at the wolf, scratching her behind the ear, much to the young wolf's delight.

_I feel a stirring within my soul, Ùna,_ the princess replied. _I can't say what it is, but I feel something is coming. Do you think it's possible to see the future?_

_It does not seem out of the realm of possibility,_ the direwolf responded. _But if it is a common practice amongst you two-legs, I have never heard of it._

_It is not a "common practice", as you say. But there are some—woodswitches and fortune tellers—that claim to know what the future holds._ Raina glanced back out over the sea and sighed heavily, shuddering as the chill air filled her throat and lungs. _Perhaps I could go to see one; hear what they have to say_.

Ùna suddenly bounded to her feet. _Why the sudden fascination with the future? Are you worried about something? _ Raina glanced up at the huge wolf and, for what seemed like the hundredth time that day, marveled at her enormous size. In the five years since they'd become a bonded pair, she'd grown as large as an ox. She did not yet rival her father's direwolf, Emrys, but Raina still felt safer whenever she was around. It was comforting to have her own protector, especially since her father had been drinking more heavily over the past couple years. His rampages were becoming more frequent.

But since the princess had reached womanhood, she'd been moved into a different tower; one that was farther away from where her father's chambers were. Then at least, she didn't have to listen to the screams, either of her mother, or of his latest mistress. Raina had known for a few years now that her father was unfaithful to the queen. It was not hard to guess when the young women padded down the hall on bare feet in only their shifts, with their dresses crumpled against their chests, in the dead of night. When her mother had asked her about it, Raina lied and said she'd never seen the girls. But she lay awake some nights, listening to their cries and whimpers coming from down the corridor. But that was the way of things now, and she could do nothing about it.

_No, Ùna, I'm not worried about anything. I'm just… concerned about the future. Sometimes I feel like my life is spinning out of control, and I'm screaming in a crowded room, but no one can hear me. Perhaps if I knew what the future held for me, then I could change it if I wished; make my life what I want it to be, not what anyone else has planned for me. _

Ùna yipped lightly and licked the girl's cheek. _For a maid of thirteen years, you certainly dwell on dark thoughts. One would think you are much older. You worry me sometimes, Princess._

Raina laughed and hugged the wolf around her thick neck. _I do not mean to; I am sorry. I only wish that I could escape this place with my mother, so we might start a new life away from pain and sadness. You will come with us, of course. What do you think about that?_

_It is a nice dream,_ she replied sadly, nudging the girl in her shoulder. Raina knew that it was a silly thought, and would probably never come about, but it was nice to dream. Ùna knew that it was impossible as well, but she let the girl dwell on her follies. She was still young, and had a positive view of the world. It would not be long though, before she realized what a truly dark place it could be. She gave her wolf one last hug about the neck, and then turned her gaze back to the sea. What she saw there, gave her cause for alarm.

_Ùna, what are those ships doing sailing out to sea? Are they heading to Alagaesia?_ Raina narrowed her eyes to look at the tallships with their huge sails and long hulls. Tiny men who looked like ants raced across the deck to handle the rigging and prepare the ship for her voyage across the sea. And upon the crisp, white sails was emblazoned a snarling, red direwolf: the sigil of her father's house. Beside her, Ùna's fur bristled and a deep growl emanated from her chest.

_I know not why the ships sail to the east, but whatever the reason, it does not bode good tidings,_ the wolf replied, shaking her shoulders. _Come; let us return to the castle. It will be dark soon, and you have dinner with your father tonight._ Raina nodded and grabbed two fistfuls of her fur to swing up onto her back. The wolf waited until she was settled and then bounded across the wide coastal plain, and back towards the city of Caton.

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><p>Dinner with her father was silent, as usual, and her mother was absent, also as usual. She would be dining in her room tonight, as she did every other night. Raina had long ago given up trying to figure out why her father wished to keep them separate. Whatever his reasoning, it made no sense to the girl. She cut the breast of roast chicken with her knife and brought it daintily to her mouth, chewing slowly and scanning the room with bright, blue eyes. The silence pervaded heavily upon her, but she dare not speak a word in case she angered her father. It didn't seem to matter what she said, the slightest things set him off. To her right, Emrys lay spread out in front of the blazing hearth, his hulking form rising and falling with his even breaths. The autumn nights were growing colder, so the hearths of the castle were lit more regularly. And not far from Raina's seat at her father's left, was Ùna, seemingly peaceful, but ever watchful for danger.<p>

"How are your lessons faring?" the king finally asked through a mouthful of boiled potatoes. Raina kept her head down and her eyes on her plate; she never liked to show her father the fear in her eyes.

"They are going well. Master Reymus says my sword skills are passable, but that I am very talented with the bow," she replied. "He's going to teach me knife fighting next week, and then the art of the spear once I have learned that sufficiently."

"Good," the king replied shortly, spearing another few potatoes on his fork. "Your mother and I have decided that it is high past time that you get a maid closer to your own age, rather than that crone that follows you around now; a girl you can confide in and that can be a companion to you." Raina sucked in her breath quietly at the mention of her mother. Morzan hardly ever mention the queen to his daughter, and when he did, it always caught the girl by surprise. But she remained silent, unsure of how to respond to this. Raina could feel the king's cold gaze resting upon her, but she kept her eyes fixed on the plate in front of her. She would not be baited into looking at him.

"Thank you, Father," she finally whispered, taking a hasty bite of greens. They tasted bitter to her, but she dare not complain.

"Yes, well…" The king paused and inspected his daughter thoughtfully. Since her flowering two years ago, she'd taken on more of the curves and delicate beauty of womanhood, but there was still no doubt that she was a child. Her lessons in warfare had helped with the girl's confidence, but she was still a small thing; delicate; fragile like a doll. Morzan wondered if the girl's mother had looked that way at her age. Raina certainly had her mother's hair and eyes, and there was a fullness to her pink mouth that was reminiscent of Bronwyn. The king thought that she would make a good match for some young suitor one day, whomever he chose for her. She would be desirable to all the wealthy young men in Oran, but for now, she was still but a child. Any thoughts of marriage could wait another few years.

The girl remained quiet, glancing between her plate and her direwolf. Morzan, too, returned his attention back to his meal, content to let the rest of the evening pass in silence. Useless conversation made him uneasy; perhaps Josse could help him relax tonight, after the castle had gone to bed. The scullery maid was quiet, but her form was pleasing to the king. Yes, he would have Josse tonight. And tomorrow, another maid from the laundry. When he'd become king of his own realm, Morzan had never imagined all of the amenities that came with being a ruler, least of all the women. He smirked slightly at the thought and tore at a leg of chicken.

Soon, his plans would come together. As they sat there, his ships were already making their way to the shores of Alagaesia. If his old friend Brom had forgotten who he was, he would certainly remember soon enough.

* * *

><p>The new maid was in Raina's chambers the next morning. She looked to be about two years younger than the princess, but she had a solid look about her; well fitted to life as a servant. Dull brown hair framed a plain face. When her young mistress awoke from a dreamless sleep, the maid curtsied and then threw another log onto the hearth. It was a chilly September morning.<p>

"Hello," Raina said, smiling at the girl. The princess stretched her arms over her head to loosen the muscles and then yawned widely.

"Good morning, m'lady," the maid replied. "How did you rest?" It was clear the girl had been trained well in what to say to her mistress, and when to keep her mouth shut.

"Well enough, thank you. Tell me, what is your name?" The maid looked up at the princess warily, unsure if this was a trap. From what she'd heard of royalty, they were tricksters and took delight in the cruelties of punishing servants. Her mother had always told her to say as little as possible to them, to avoid any beatings.

"Bridie, m'lady," the girl finally muttered. "I'm to be your lady's maid."

"Yes, I have heard," the princess replied, smiling kindly at the girl. "I think my father means for you to be a friend, of sorts. He thinks I am a lonely child." Ùna perked up her head from where she lay at the foot of the bed, and Bridie glanced at her nervously. "Do not fear her," Raina continued, "she will not harm you. She's here to protect me, and so, will protect you as well." The girl stared at the direwolf for a moment longer before dipping into another hasty curtsy and scurrying out of the room, mumbling something about fetching breakfast.

_The child fears me, _Ùna said, watching her go from the room. _Though it is my red brother whom she should fear more. _

_ They don't know any better, Ùna. To them, you are just a monstrous beast who can only think of eating them. She will come to trust you in time, as I do. _Raina leaned over and petted the wolf's fur gently. _But for now, we'll have to wait and see if she is loyal to me, or to my father. I have a feeling he wishes to spy on me. _

_ It would not be difficult to turn the girl against him. _Ùna leapt down off the bed and sniffed the floor where the girl had been standing.

_Yes, but let us hope it doesn't come to that, _Raina replied, leaning her head back against the pillow and gazing out the window. Her room faced the east, where she could see the hazy blue line that was the sea. And as she looked, she wondered what it would be like to sail across those waters and see the land where her father came from. Was it as bleak as this one? What were the people like? Was everyone there as cruel as her father? For now, all she could do was imagine what it would be like. And perhaps she would never see Alagaesia; not if her father had anything to say about it.

* * *

><p>"Raise your sword, boy! Throw me back! You're missing prime opportunities here!" Jörmundur voice fell upon Murtagh's ears like a hammer against an anvil. His sword pounded against the little wooden shield lashed to his arm, sending jolts of pain up into his shoulder. If this was what war was like, Murtagh wanted no part of it. He grunted heavily as he lifted the broadsword above his shoulder and brought it down upon his opponent's steel-clad arm. The blunted edge of the blade slid harmlessly off the castle forged steel, and the point of his sword dug into the dirt beneath him. Jörmundur took this opportunity to shove his sword arm into Murtagh's shield, causing him to fall back. But as he stumbled, the young man righted himself and spun in a circular motion, his sword extended out in front of him. As Jörmundur watched the strange act, Murtagh's sword connected with his helm, ringing his ears and sending a pounding through his head. The older man fell to the side, struggling to keep his heavily armored body upright. Before he knew what was happening, Murtagh was attacking in an onslaught of slashes to his shield, pushing the older man into the dirt.<p>

Finally, Jörmundur threw down his weapon and held his arms up. "Yield," he called firmly from beneath his helm. Murtagh stepped away and threw the blunted blade across the practice yard, ripping his own helm off. He tucked it under his arm and then extended a hand to help the older man up out of the dirt, saving some of his dignity. "Now _that_," Jörmundur claimed, "is how you subdue an opponent. Where did that fury come from, boy?" Murtagh bristled a bit at the misnomer, but he let it slide off his back. He was, after all, a young man of fifteen now and well on his way to becoming one of the most skilled warriors in all of Alagaesia. It wouldn't be much longer until no one called him "boy" anymore.

"I'm not sure," Murtagh replied sheepishly. "I just tapped into something inside me. Or perhaps it was your labeling me _boy_ that did it." He laughed slightly, to let him know there were no hard feelings. Jörmundur clapped him on the back as they walked towards the armory. Although it was autumn, it still grew hot underneath the heavy steel, and both men wished to be free of their constraints after a long morning of practicing. They laughed some more as they replaced the armor on the racks, going over every point of their sparring match.

"You are quick on your feet," Jörmundur said, "but you let your arrogance blind you. _Never _underestimate your opponent. With me, you have the advantage of having fought me before. But on the battlefield, your enemies are faceless men, with no names or histories. _Anything _can happen in battle; never forget that." Murtagh nodded as he hung the blunted blade up on its posts, and then glanced over at the open doors of the armory. Thorn stood staring at him with blood red eyes.

_Master Jeod is waiting for us in his study, _the snow white wolf said, his voice deep and solemn in Murtagh's mind. The dark-haired young man rolled his eyes slightly, having forgotten that he had lessons this afternoon with the Royal scholar.

_Very well, _he replied gruffly, _go on ahead and tell him I must wash before our lesson. I'll be up shortly. _The wolf inclined his head and then turned to pad off across the yard. Murtagh shook out his hair, trying to loose it from his face where it had been plastered by his sweat. "I must go," he said to the arms master, "I have a history lesson to get to. We'll spar again tomorrow?"

"Aye, that we will," Jörmundur replied, flipping a dagger end over end to catch it by the point. Murtagh laughed at him merrily and then headed out of the armory towards the castle. Before he could get very far though, another direwolf, this one smaller than his own, blocked his path. He stopped mid-step and sighed at the dark grey wolf, her sapphire blue eyes narrowed menacingly.

_Let me pass, Saphira, _he said to the wolf. She bared her teeth and snarled.

_Eragon wishes to spar with you. He says your defeat of him the other day was a cheat, _the wolf replied, her voice full of malice. Murtagh did not care to discuss whatever lies his brother had spun, so he stepped around the wolf where she had planted her feet.

_Let Eragon think what he will, but I have other things to attend to today. Tell him to come to the practice yard tomorrow morning, _he said, hurrying towards the castle as the large wolf followed him. _Perhaps he will get a chance to avenge his wounded pride then. _She snapped at his heels, but he paid the wolf no mind. After Saphira had pinned him to the ground when he was twelve, the boys' father put an end to their childish brawling, afraid that one of their wolves would harm the other boy. But Saphira stopped just short of entering the castle and growled at Murtagh's retreating form.

Thorn was waiting for him in his room, lying by the blazing hearth and yawning widely. _You stink of horse, _the wolf growled.

_Wonderful to see you too, old friend, _Murtagh replied mirthlessly. _Fear not, I'll be clean soon. _He headed to the washroom that was adjoined to his chambers. The bath was scalding hot, and it felt good to slough off the dirt and grime from the practice yard. As he ran a soft towel over his medium-length, dark hair and wiped the fog off his looking glass, he took a moment to inspect his face. Fierce, grey eyes stared back at him, and a coarse layer of stubble was growing on his chin. At fifteen years of age, he'd only just had to start shaving a year ago, so the concept was still relatively new. As his eyes traveled over his reflection, he didn't see much of his father there. The king had always told him he looked very much like his mother, but he wished he knew what she'd looked like. With a sigh, he left the washroom to don a fresh set of clothing and then left his chambers, Thorn close on his heels.

The wolf padded behind him on huge, silent feet; if Murtagh had not been able to sense his presence, he might have never known the wolf was there. The pair of them traveled through the wide corridors, sending servants scurrying at the sight of the beast, but Murtagh paid them no mind. _The Bastard of Illirea _they called him, though never to his face. He wasn't sure what he would do if they ever did call him that in his presence, but just the thought of it unnerved him and made the blood rush to his face. His father swore it didn't matter, but it got under the young man's skin all the same.

Master Jeod's study was located high up in the West Tower, where he could look out over the whole city. Sometimes, Murtagh would find him staring out the window blankly, lost in whatever outlandish thoughts coursed through his mind. Today was no different, as Jeod sat upon the windowseat, gazing up at the sky. Murtagh cleared his throat as Thorn ducked through the door and headed straight to the fireplace.

"Ah!" Master Jeod exclaimed upon finally realizing his pupil was here. "There you are. Come sit down, we have much to discuss today." Murtagh took a seat at the small, round table where a huge book was opened to its middle. He perused the runes on the page, but did not absorb their words. Whatever they said, Master Jeod would soon explain it to him.

"Good afternoon, Master Jeod," he greeted the somewhat eccentric man. His robes were a garish pink, trimmed with gold and silver embroidery, and he wore a pair of rimmed spectacles, which made his eyes look three times their normal size, green orbs staring out of a thin face. Atop his head, Murtagh noticed it did not look like he'd taken care to comb his hair when he got out of bed that morning, though he couldn't recall that Jeod every did look kempt in his appearance.

"I thought we'd go over the history of the tribes today," Jeod said merrily, taking the seat across from the king's bastard. Murtagh inwardly cringed, as he knew their history by heart, but conceded nonetheless. "Very well," Master Jeod continued, "name the eight tribes and their respective leaders."

"The Mountain Tribes are led by Lord Cadoc, who is the queen's father," Murtagh began slowly, biting on the words as he thought of his step-mother. "The Plains Tribes are led by Lord Fadawar, and his niece, the Lady Nasuada. Western Tribes are led by Lady Angela; Southron Tribes are led by Lord Orrin; Northern Tribes are led by Lady Islanzadí and her daughter, Lady Arya. The Eastern Tribes are led by Lord Orik; The Island Tribes of Sharktooth are led by Lady Lorana. And the Forest Tribes are led by Lord Fäolin. How did I do?"

"Excellent!" Master Jeod exclaimed. "But can you name their direwolves and what rank they hold amongst their own people."

"The Alpha Male of the direwolves is Kah'Sheen; his Alpha Female is Vella. They reside in the forest of Du Weldenvarden, and once every two years they send a certain number of pups from their litter to our lands, to become allied with its rulers. Lord Cadoc's wolf is named Birka; Lord Fadawar's wolf is named Nithring, but Lady Nasuada does not have one yet. Lady Angela's wolf is named Solembum; Lady Islanzadí has a wolf named Cuaroc, and Lady Arya's wolf is named Fírnen; Lord Orik… Blast! I never remember his."

"Beroan," Jeod said patiently, prompting his student to continue.

"Yes, Beroan," Murtagh said sullenly, annoyed at this test he was being forced to endure. "Lady Lorana's wolf is Eridor, and Lord Fäolin's wolf is Vanilor." Murtagh slapped his hands against his legs at the conclusion of his recitation. Jeod nodded approvingly and adjusted his glasses upon the bridge of his hawkish nose. "And if you're curious, my wolf's name is Thorn, father's is Athkore, the queen's is Marl, and Eragon's is Saphira. How did I do?"

"Very well done; I can tell you have been studying." Master Jeod smiled knowingly. "But," he continued, "there is one you have missed." Murtagh looked at him in confusion for a moment, before bringing his palm up against his forehead.

"Emrys," he groaned. "He is the wolf that is bonded to King Morzan of Oran. How could I forget? Though you never did ask about him; you only asked for the leaders in Alagaesia." Jeod smirked at his young pupil, and then opened his mouth to speak. But he was suddenly cut off by the door to his study swinging open and banging against the stone wall.

"Pardon the interruption," the messenger said through catching his breath, "but your father has summoned you to his study." This was directed at Murtagh, though he noticed that the older man declined to use his proper title of Captain. No matter, he was not vain enough to think that he automatically earned the respect of the men in his father's household just because he'd been promoted to the City Guard.

"Forgive me, Master Jeod," Murtagh said to his teacher as he stood from the table. "I will return, if time allows." The scholar waved a hand dismissively and Thorn bounded to Murtagh's side as they followed the messenger. He led them across the palace, though Murtagh knew exactly where it was he was going. His father's study was in the North Tower, and when they got there, Murtagh was surprised to see that it was full of generals and advisors, all of them talking amongst themselves.

When the king's bastard entered in his boiled leather armor inlaid with silver and a red cloak clasped about his shoulders, everyone fell silent and turned to face him. For a young man of fifteen, he was quite tall, and looked much older than he was. Perhaps it was the responsibility his father had placed on him, by putting him in the City Guard. But Murtagh had risen to the station, thankful to have something to do that set him apart from just being the king's bastard son.

"Welcome, Murtagh," King Brom said from his place behind the carved oak desk. Athkore stood nobly behind him, dark eyes surveying the scene. His father motioned for him to sit in a small, wooden chair by the hearth. Thorn remained outside of the crowded room, having no place to fit, but Murtagh did not feel uneasy. As long as the queen was not here, he did not think he was under any threat. "I received a raven this morning," the king continued, "from Sharktooth. Their coastal scouts have spotted Orani ships headed towards Teirm; two days out, by the look of it. We haven't suffered any raids in years, so I'm not sure why Morzan would choose to start them up again. But if he has, then we must be prepared. Lady Angela has called for aid to defend her territory. We cannot abandon our allies." He looked to General Thane, a burly man that stood a head above every other man in the room. He led the combined armies of the Broddring Kingdom, and was a fearsome warrior on the battlefield. General Thane nodded slightly, and then the king looked to Admiral Martland Redbeard, the leader over the fleet of warships and galleys.

"Our ships will meet them before they get the chance to land," he affirmed in a rough voice, hairy arms crossed over his burly chest. Murtagh watched as the other men were given their commands, and then filed out of the king's study, until only he was left. Thorn padded into the room as the last man closed the door, and joined Murtagh by the hearth.

"I'm sure you're wondering why I've called you here," King Brom said, looking over at his son.

"I was," Murtagh replied. Brom heaved a sigh and steepled his hands beneath his bearded chin.

"I have made the decision to promote Commander Horst to the cavalry division," the king explained. Murtagh remained silent, unsure what the promotion of his head officer had to do with him. "He'll be leaving the City Guard first thing on the morrow, to move out with the men to the coast. In the wake of his departure, I have decided that you are ready to take his place." The breath caught in Murtagh's throat and the blood rushed to his face.

"Father, I—"

"No use arguing," the king said dismissively. "It's already been decided. Frederic will remain your second, to advise you until you are ready to assume full command. I have ultimate faith in you, Murtagh. You will do well." Murtagh stood and beat a clenched fist against his chest, bowing his head in deference.

"I will not fail you, Father," he said stoically, pride swelling in his chest.

"I do not doubt that." Brom stood and came over to his son, barely taller than him now. He put his hands upon the young man's shoulders and looked him in the eye. "Let us talk soon, just the two of us. I feel as though it has been a long time since we had any real time together."

"I understand that you are busy, Father. As am I," Murtagh said quietly. "But yes, I would like that very much." Brom nodded and then gave him his leave, returning to his desk to deal with the particulars of defending his kingdom against raiders. Murtagh hurried out of the study, a new happiness blooming inside of him. No matter what the queen said or thought, his father had bestowed him with an enormous responsibility. Thorn followed closely behind him as they returned to Master Jeod, and this time, he devoted himself fully to his recitations, not even caring that this was the thousandth time they'd been over the history of Alagaesia. For the first time in a very long time, Murtagh thought that everything was falling perfectly into place.

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><p><strong>Okay, that's all for now. Please let me know what you think in a review! <strong>


	4. Seeds of Doubt

**A/N: This chapter will explore the relationship between our two favorite brothers, and possibly feature a certain conniving queen. Do enjoy!**

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><p>Murtagh paced restlessly across the practice yard, his sword hanging at his side and trailing across the ground. The other men gathered there were too concerned with fighting one another, but he was watching all of them with a careful eye. As the new commander of the City Guard, Murtagh would be in charge of overseeing the training of his men, and the new recruits. But the training itself would remain up to Frederic, who was by far the more experienced warrior. The burly soldier stood on the other side of the yard, somewhat sour at the thought of being placed under the authority of a green boy, but resigned to his fate. Whatever the king ordered, he would follow without question.<p>

As for the king's bastard, he was feeling a mounting fear growing inside of him. The older men all looked down at him with sneers upon their faces. Most of them were not as willing as Frederic to be placed under Murtagh's authority. But he could not show that fear to any of them; they would take it as a sign of weakness, and pounce upon any opportunity to get him out of the position he'd been placed in. Murtagh steeled himself against their menacing glares. He'd been prepared for some backlash directed at his youth and inexperience, but nothing even close to this blatant hatefulness. Thorn sat in close proximity to the path Murtagh was carving out in the dirt, keeping a close eye on all the activity in watchful silence. Whatever these men may think of Murtagh, Thorn would be there to protect him if any of them decided to act upon their thoughts.

_They all hate me, don't they?_ Murtagh said, slowing down his frenzied pacing.

_I believe they are just jealous of you,_ Thorn replied. _Many of them assumed that Frederic would take Commander Horst's place, and that they might be considered for the position of second in command. It does not sit with them lightly that they were passed up for the king's bastard._ Murtagh looked over at the huge wolf, his red eyes gleaming wickedly in contrast against his snowy fur.

_How do you know all of this?_

_ My people have many secrets,_ he replied cryptically, though not unkindly. Murtagh just shook his head and smirked at the cheekiness of his bonded partner.

_Very well, keep them to yourself then._ Murtagh turned his attention back to the men sparring with one another in the yard. They continued on for a little while, but soon broke off from their groups and went on their way. Frederic dismissed the remaining recruits, after giving them a small lecture in how to improve their technique, and then sent them on their way. When they were all finally gone, Frederic walked over to Murtagh, his arms still crossed over his chest.

"The men are wary of you," the large, red-headed man said in a deep voice. "But the new recruits look promising. Anything to say?" Murtagh shook his head slightly.

"No, I don't want to give them any more reason to hate me than they already have," he said quietly, keeping his observations of some of the men's incorrect techniques to himself. "I trust your judgment in this, Frederic. And I thank you for your help." He extended a hand to his second in command, who took it swiftly and shook vigorously.

"I may not agree with the king's decision, but I won't go against it. You're my commander now, and I'll help you in any way that I can." Murtagh thanked him once again before heading out of the yard, Thorn following closely behind him. He had intended to return to his chambers, for some self-study before his lesson this afternoon, but when the fur on Thorn's back stood straight up and a low growl came from his throat, he knew that would not be happening.

Saphira stood at the door back into the castle, her feet planted firmly and blue eyes glinting sharply. _Eragon is on his way down, _she said, barring their entry back inside. Murtagh sighed heavily and rubbed the back of his hands against his eyes.

_Can this not wait? I have things to attend to, _he said hastily, trying to mask his frustration but knowing he was doing a poor job of it.

_It cannot! _the wolf snapped harshly. She trained her eyes on Thorn and growled louder. _He wants a rematch. _

_ Fine,_ Murtagh conceded. _But you and Thorn will keep to yourselves. I'll not have a repeat of last month. _He was recalling one of their last matches, when the two wolves had gone after each other and brawled in the dirt, yelping and snarling at one another's throats.

_ Very well. _She turned away, and from behind her came Eragon, bounding out into the practice yard with a hungry gleam in his eyes.

"Are you ready to spar with me, bastard?" he called, causing Murtagh to stiffen at his use of the word. It was bad enough coming from everyone else, but from his own flesh and blood, it seemed to drive the knife further in. Murtagh knew it was only because of the poisonous words of his mother that the boy called him that, and, at her prompting, didn't understand how it affected his brother.

"Why could this not have waited, Eragon? I have other things to do than play at sticks with you," Murtagh growled, following him back into the yard. They both wore padded jerkins in place of the heavy armor, and nothing to protect their heads. Murtagh would never intentionally harm the younger boy, but he wasn't so sure he would receive the same treatment in return.

"You cheated the other day, and I want to get back at you." At thirteen, Eragon was already becoming a wilful young man, allowed to do whatever he wanted by his doting mother. And, silently, Murtagh feared it would become his undoing one day. There would come a time when he could no longer hold his tongue, and he'd say something he would come to regret. The queen hated that they had any interaction in the first place; if she knew Murtagh had admonished Eragon, it would not go well for him.

"I did not cheat, Eragon, and you know it."

"Yes, you did!" he cried, grabbing one of the blunted swords from the rack and twirling it about haphazardly. He was good with a blade, but, as yet, still inexperienced. "You attacked me when I wasn't looking, and that isn't fair."

"Do you think an enemy soldier will wait for you to look before he attacks you? That isn't how real battles are fought, Eragon. You must remain quick on your feet and focused on the battle at hand, or else you'll pay with your head."

"Don't lecture me, _Murtagh_," the younger boy replied in a very childish manner. "Master Jörmundur spends more time with me than he does with you. I know how to fight a battle."

"Fine, have it your way," he said, retrieving his own sword and slicing it through the air in two graceful arcs at his side. They settled into their positions, watching each other carefully. When it came down to mere strength, Murtagh far outmatched his younger brother, but Eragon was quick. Though he was oftentimes not quick enough to keep up with the superior technique of his brother's moves, and had never beaten him yet. Eragon made a lunge at Murtagh's leg, but he quickly swiped it away, jumping backwards and landing with his feet firmly planted in the dirt. Behind the two boys, their direwolves sat a good distance apart, watching with interest.

Eragon made a few more attempts to land a blow, but Murtagh was completely focused on the spar, and his younger brother was terribly predictable. At his young age, there were only a few combinations that he knew well enough to put them into practice, and they were all easily defended against. Murtagh parried blow after blow, but soon grew tired of this game. He pushed against the next blow, sending the smaller boy staggering back into the dirt. Eragon landed on the ground with a thump and a look of indignation upon his face. It was a look that was soon replaced by one of fear when Murtagh rested the dull tip of his blade at the hollow of Eragon's throat.

"Dead," he said simply. "Practice with Jörmundur from now on, and boys your own size, until you can compete with me. There was no cheating involved; I am simply at a higher skill level than you." He reached down a hand and hauled his younger brother to his feet. _Half-brother, _he had to remind himself. Although they were raised together, the boys had lived their lives apart from one another. The queen kept her darling boy close to her bosom, and Murtagh had learned to fend for himself. And even though he was young, it did not escape Eragon's notice how their father seemed to prefer Murtagh's company over his, sowing little seeds of doubt in his young, impressionable mind; though these thoughts, he kept to himself.

"I shouldn't be sparring with you anyways," Eragon replied sullenly, brushing the dirt off the back of his breeches. "I'm the future king of Alagaesia, and you're just a bastard."

"I also happen to be your _brother, _Eragon." Murtagh felt the anger rising up in his chest, and he wanted nothing more than to punch Eragon right in the nose. His words seemed to put him in check though, for the look on the boy's face was one of shame. But before he could say anything further, a messenger scurried into the yard, bowing in Eragon's direction.

"My prince," he said in a mousy tone, "the queen wishes to see you." Eragon threw a heated glance in Murtagh's direction before following the small man back into the castle. Saphira bounded across the yard to follow, and once they were gone, Murtagh could feel his anger abating and retreating back inside him. He had been far too close to saying or doing something regretful. Although he loved his brother, and they had been friends as children, the boy could be cruel sometimes. And Murtagh was not sure if Eragon harbored the same brotherly love for him. If he didn't it was because of the queen and her poisoned words, a force that Murtagh could not hope to combat.

With a heavy sigh, he replaced the practice sword on the rack and hurried back inside before any more distractions could come his way. Thorn padded along behind him, frightening the servants with his monstrous size. At least Murtagh would never have to worry about any surprise ambushes, either threatening or not. Thorn could ward off any unwanted visitors, no matter who they were. Well, except the king and queen's wolves perhaps. They were larger than Thorn, though Murtagh knew Athkore would never do anything to hurt him. His father's wolf loved him dearly, he knew. But the queen's… Well, that was a different story. The huge brindled direwolf was certainly a fearsome beast to behold, though he'd heard that the King Across the Sea's was even larger. But no matter, he doubted he'd ever meet _that_ wolf in his lifetime.

The exiled king could send as many ships as he possessed, but they would never land on Alagaesia's shores. Not if his father had anything to say about it; that much Murtagh knew for sure. Their armies could withstand whatever King Morzan threw at them, and he'd be beaten back to his island like a whipped dog. Murtagh was brimming with nervous excitement at the prospect of helping to defend their land. Even though he was only Commander of the City Guard, and the Orani armies would likely never even make it to Illirea, he still held a sense of pride in his duty. His father had given him a great honor and responsibility, and Murtagh would not let him down.

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><p><em><span>In Teirm<span>_

General Thane sat proudly upon the back of his black destrier as they came pounding through the gates of Teirm. It had been a three day ride from Illirea with an arduous trek through the Spine, and they had pushed their mounts to their limits. But General Thane knew there would be no time for rest. In the large square that lay just within the gates stood Lady Angela, a large mass of soldiers filed into their ranks behind her. She wore a full suit of flanged armor, yet her head remained uncovered, allowing her wild, brown curls to flow freely about her face and shoulders. Fierce blue eyes were set into her face, like rare jewels, and General Thane thought that she was a very beautiful woman. Beside her was a snarling, black direwolf, with yellow eyes as big as full moons. Slather dripped from the beast's mouth, and the horses began to grow uneasy as they approached the forces of Teirm.

"Well met, General Thane," Angela called, raising a hand in greeting. The main force of their men remained outside the city walls, but Thane had brought his cavalry with him in a show of the king's might. Although the Western Tribes had been amongst the first to ally with King Brom, it still did well to remind them of his power and protection.

"And to you, Lady Angela," the burly general replied. He pulled his destrier to a stop in front of the ruler of Teirm and crawled down from his back, his heavy armor clanking together noisily. When he righted himself, he was able to see over the heads of every man gathered before him, and most especially the small woman with the huge direwolf. "What news do you have of the Orani ships?" he continued, eyeing the wolf warily. The beast had a feral look about him, and General Thane didn't want to find any of his horses missing in the morning.

"The ships were sighted by our scouting boats about a league from shore," Lady Angela explained, turning away and walking across the square, prompting General Thane to follow her. Behind them, the black wolf, Solembum, padded across the flagstone quietly, the only sound the clicking of his sharp claws. Thane glanced nervously back at the beast, and sped up his pace to keep up with the smaller woman. As they walked, she continued, "The raven that came this morning put their number at three. They're large war galleys, so give or take two-hundred and fifty oarsmen, and then at least another hundred or so above decks per ship."

"So we're looking at a force upwards of a thousand then," Thane replied, deep in thought. "How many men do you have here?"

"Half that many." They entered into a large row house, which Thane could only assume belonged to the lady of the City, and then through the entrance into an ample study, appointed with dark oak and lit with a large lantern hanging from the ceiling. Solembum followed into the study and sat behind his lady where she took up behind a large desk. Thane remained standing as a servant closed the door and the two were left alone.

"We have enough men to match their numbers," Thane said, "but the issue will be if Redbeard can get here in time. Our frigates are coming up from Feinster, and it's a five day sail. We'll need to hold them off until then."

"We have ships, General Thane," Angela replied heatedly. "Though they are not vessels of war, it will give us the chance to at least get close to them. And if they try to land, we'll be ready. The situation is not dire as of yet, but King Brom's help is welcome. We will find places for your men in the barracks."

"Your generosity is surely welcome, Lady Angela. But I would like to sit with you and your advisors, as well as mine, to go over our strategy. How do you plan to combat the raiders out on the water?"

"Many of our soldiers grew up as fisherman, and have a vast knowledge of the waters around here," she said firmly, stroking her wolf's fur. "We can draw them off their ships and into the smaller estuaries and deltas to fight them in smaller numbers. But you are right, General Thane, we must all agree on a comprehensive strategy. I will call a meeting for tomorrow night, yes?" He nodded swiftly before turning to exit, his helm secured under his arm. Out in the square, the forces of Illirea and Teirm were mingling, but Thane's Captains and Commanders stood huddled in their own group. He headed over to them.

"Tell the men to head to the barracks, on the western end of the city," Thane snapped to one of the company Commanders. "There will be no fight tonight, nor possibly the next day. These Orani bastards seem content to bide their time and make us wait."

"Yes, sir," the commander said, saluting and then turning to find his men. The others did the same at Thane's bidding, and then the general himself followed one of Lady Angela's advisors to another of the row houses, near the one that served as Lady Angela's headquarters. Thane's leaders would join him shortly, and then they could get to work on a strategy, in case the Orani attacked before Angela thought they would. As he looked out of an upper window, he couldn't help thinking this would be an extremely long and tiring campaign.

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><p><em><span>In Illirea<span>_

"What have I told you about sparring with that _boy_?" Queen Selena was not in the best of moods to begin with, and the information about her son fighting with the king's bastard in the practice yard had only served to incense her further.

"Oh, mother," Eragon replied, rolling his eyes slightly as he petted Saphira's soft, grey fur absentmindedly. "He is my _brother, _who else am I supposed to spar with? I know you don't like him because he's a bastard, but all the other nobleman's sons are so dull. And none of them are any good with a sword."

"It's a matter of propriety, my sweet boy," the queen continued from her high-backed chair. Her brindled wolf, Marl, lay on the floor at her feet, his jade eyes trained on the prince before him. "If you are seen to be cavorting with your father's… _mistake, _then it could reflect badly upon you. You are to be the future king, and must surround yourself with only those who can be trusted."

"But…" The young boy seemed to be confused, biting down on his lip and looking to his wolf for guidance. "But Murtagh is my brother… He wouldn't betray me, would he?" The queen gave her son a sympathetic look and then beckoned him over to the chair. He crossed the room and then stopped by her side as she put an arm around his shoulder, petting his dark brown hair in a loving manner.

"My dear," she began slowly, her tone soft and comforting, "there are things that you do not yet understand. You are very important, in that you will be king someday. But Murtagh, he is also the king's son. He wants to take your birthright from you, child. Bastards are born of treachery and deceit, and can only do the same throughout their own lives. He wishes to be king; you cannot let him get to close to you. I fear for your safety, Eragon." The queen's words coursed through his mind, planting little seeds of doubt to be sown into greater mistrust later. She watched in silent triumphant as the weight of her lies became apparent on the young boy's face. He leaned his head into her shoulder.

"I love you, Mother," Eragon whispered. "Thank you for your wisdom. We can't let Murtagh take my throne."

"No, my dear," the queen seethed, "we cannot."

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><p><strong>That's all for now! Please review! <strong>


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